Blood and Glory: The Story of the 27th Annual Hunger Games
by AndTheyCallItAMine
Summary: This is the tragic story of Victoria Wolfe in the 27th Annual Hunger Games. One-shot Warning: Extreme violence


**Blood and Glory**

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Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games, but I do own my main character.

A/N: Here's a Hunger Games one-shot to make you all sad (hopefully). This is the story of the 17th Annual Hunger Games.

This is my first time writing action scenes, (I'm kind of doing this as practice for my LOTR fanfiction) so lots of feedback would be great!

Please review, and thanks for reading!

* * *

_60, 59, 58..._

I am here. At last. In the place that all of my peers back in District 1 would, quite literally, kill to be. But instead, it was me. The bystander, the odd one out, was the one who was having a chance at glory.

_... 52, 51, 50..._

Ever since I was diagnosed at age 2, my parents pulled me out of any activity. What was the point of letting you child get involved with things if they were going to die at 18? I never had any friends to play with, to talk to, just that damn doll Marietta my parents gave me on my fifth birthday. And when my twin sister Vera began learning how to fight, I was left at home with my mother, staring at those sickly green colored walls while that disease slowly ate away at me from inside.

_... 47, 46, 45..._

And then my older brother, Malcom, _finally_ paid some attention to me. He saw the way I looked at everyone else my age from my bedroom window, He _understood, somehow_, that not being out of the house in twelve years was making the disease even more ferocious and my time was even more limited. So he snuck me out. He and his friends taught me how to use a sword, spear and knife like another limb. And for the first time in my life, I was _happy._ I was good at fighting, better at it than anyone else my age, because of the raw passion that drove me forward.

_... 40, 39, 38..._

Three years I trained with Malcom, my brother, my best friend. When I was fifteen, he volunteered for the Games. And that bitch from District 2 killed him. And so I threw myself into training with twice as much passion and strength. For _revenge_. Not just for Malcom, but for myself, all the times I was left behind with only that damned doll for company.

_... 35, 34, 33..._

Another three years later, I was eighteen. A boy and a girl from my year were going to volunteer themselves for the Games. I already knew what I was going to do. I beat the other girls to it. I got the spot. No one knew I could fight. But I would show them. I want _glory _and _revenge_. I want to be remembered, not just be a plain name etched on a gravestone underneath the willow tree outside my window.

_... 29, 28, 27..._

My mother cried with joy when I got on the train to leave. It was all for the cameras. She acted like I was normal, like I wasn't going to die in two months and this was just a quicker alternative. As the train left, I didn't look back. I look forward, to where Malcom once stood and where I would stand.

_... 24, 23, 22..._

In the Capitol, I'm afraid I came across as a bit dull. The announcer, Caesar, hated me. My answered were flat and I wasn't nearly as pretty as the girl from District 2. It's not like it mattered. I wouldn't need sponsors for what I was about to do.

_... 17, 16, 15..._

When training came around, I sat there. No matter how hard the officials tried to get me moving, I flat-out refused to do anything except watch. Finally, they just let me sit there. I did the same thing for my evaluation. I came in, told them my name, sat in front of them for five minutes, and then left. They gave me a 0, but if they could give negative numbers, I'm sure I would've gotten one.

_...9, 8, 7..._

And now, standing on the platform while the clock counts down, I am ready. I am ready to make these people feel the pain, heartbreak and loss that I have. I am ready to make them feel what Malcom went through. Most of them are pale, nervous-looking. They should be.

_...6, 5, 4..._

I much prefer this way. At least here I get to die outside, with the warm breeze, and the sky as beautiful a blue as the eyes of that damn doll. Here, I can feel something. It's not painless and in my sleep. I'll go the way Malcom went. It shows me that I'm human.

_...3, 2, 1..._

_It is time to make them pay._

* * *

With a sound like a gunshot, we were off. I had a plan. I had one for weeks. I ran right instead of straight towards the pile of supplies hanging from the drooping branches of a towering willow tree.

The boy from District 7 never saw me coming.

I snapped his neck with my bare hands and he crumpled to the ground. For a moment, I heard the anguished scream of his family miles and miles away. But now, the adrenaline pumping through me blocket out almost any noise.

Sprinting towards the tree now, I seized a sword that lay on the ground and sliced the throat of the small girl from District 12 as she tripped in a ditch. I had never felt as satisfied as I did when I saw the terror in her eyes as I stood over her, or the frightened whimper she released as I raised my sword.

That makes two.

Snatching up another sword from the ground, I drove both blades into the guts of two young boys, one from 9, the other from 3 as they wrestled over a bow and arrow. They lay dying, their scarlet blood staining their clothes as I threw one of the swords at the girl from 7. It hit right on target, impaling itself in her skull, and with one agonizing scream, fell dead.

With a great wrench, I yanked it from her corpse and headed closer to the tree, where the remaining tributes were engaged in a ferocious bloodbath.

I'm sure by now I must have looked terrifying; the two blood-spattered swords in my hands and a psycotic grin stretched across my face. I could taste the bitter blood of the girl from 12 splattered across my lips. It tasted like victory.

With one massive swipe of my sword, I decapitated the boy from 5. His head made the most satisfying _thud _as it fell to the ground. I noticed his hair fell in the same way Malcom's used to; slightly wavy, with short bangs, but long in the back. This fueled me with new anger and strength.

I thrust one of my swords into the girl from 6 who groaned and collapsed, moaning in pain, while my other sword slashed a crimson trail across the throat and face of the girl from 11. She fell on top of the girl from 6, gurgling, blood flowing quickly and freely down her chest and into her hair. But I had no time to appreciate the beauty of the crimson blood against her pale, porcelain skin.

A handsome boy from 10 fell the same way as the pretty girl from 11, writhing and twitching on the ground until he finally lay still.

I stepped over the bodies of the tributes from 8 and the girl from 4 who had already been killed towards the girl from 9. She tried to run when she sew me and the trail of corpses behind me. She let out a high-pitched scream as I sliced off one of her arms and chopped her torso in half, flopping to the ground like a dead fish.

Drawing nearer to the tree, I passed the boy from 12 who lay in a pool of his own blood.

The boy from 11 was the next to fall.

I slammed one of my sword hilts into his skull, disorienting him, and finished him with a large slash across the chest without even stopping walking.

The tributes from 2, the girls from 3, 5 and 10, the boy from 6, and the boy from my District.

Maddox.

He was nice to me when we arrived. We joked around a bit, we laughed together. He had nice eyes. To bad I was going to have to kill him.

As I approached, Maddox thrust his spear into the chest of the boy from 2, whooping victoriously. At that same moment, the girl from 2 stabbed her knife deep into the eye of the girl from 3, who sank to her knees, sobbing. The girl from 2 yanked the knife out of her eye socket and plunged it deep into the girl's throat.

"Why didn't you leave any for me?" I asked. They looked up at me, eyes wide, and my vision went red.

Suddenly I was a whirlwind of steel, I felt nothing but pure hatred for the people who had been able to lead normal, disease-free lives, who would have lived to a full, ripe age if it weren't for me.

The boy from 6 didn't even put up a fight. He fell soundlessly to the grass, and I was after the girls from 5 and 10 next.

The girl from 10 tried to shoot me with her crossbow, but I spun around, grabbing the girl from 5 and using her as a shield. The arrow hit her in the chest and I threw her off of me. I spun, twirling my sword and slashing the girl from 10 across the throat, and she keeled over, blood dripping out of her mouth.

The girl from 2 and I faced off next. I snarled at her, my lips stained red with blood, my hair matted with it. She rushed at me, flaunting her broadsword. I parried her blows, sneering just to frustrate her. In perfect time, we lunged, slashed, feinted and dodged.

Swords were Malcom's weapon of choice. Swords were my best weapon.

She didn't stand a chance.

I was playing with her, like a child might play with their dinner. I even had a momentary flashback to when Malcom was first teaching me to use a sword. He was so gentle, so patient with me.

The face of that beautiful girl from District 2 flashed into my mind, the girl who thrust her spear into his stomach. The girl who looked so much like the girl I stood fighting now.

And with one final scream, I parried her sword to the side and thrust one of my blades into her stomach, like the other girl did to Malcom. She fell down my blade a bit, moaning quietly.

I looked her dead in the eye.

"I hope it hurts."

And with a grunt, I forced her off of me and yanked my sword upward, tearing a great, gaping hole in her chest like a blossoming red flower laid upon her.

Maddox and I looked at each other.

"I'm really sorry." I said, standing. That was a lie.

He began to back up.

"Victoria..." he pleaded.

"I'm sorry, Maddox." I repeated.

He tried to turn and run, but my sword soared perfectly on target, impaling him in the back. He fell on top of the sword just near the trunk of the tree, pushing the blade into him even further. I wonder how he would have felt, if he had known that the last words spoken to him were lies.

I turned my one remaining sword on myself.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, may I - wait! Stop!" cried the panicked announcer, but I didn't hear him.

I walked over Maddox's body and fell to my knees, my whole body shaking. The blade stained with the blood of thirteen tributes was poised at my chest. I looked up at the sky.

"This is for you, Malcom." I said, tears filling my eyes and spilling over, tracing lines through the blood coating my cheeks. "I did this for you. And for me. For us." I sobbed.

Looking out over the field, I saw the carnage that I had left; twenty-three bodies of people between twelve and eighteen littered the ground. The adrenaline drained from my body, and suddenly, I was exhausted.

"It's better this way." I said, sniffing.

With one almighty plunge, I threw myself on the blade. I crumpled, falling next to Maddox. Faintly, I wondered if my mother was crying as she watched the life leave the body of her baby daughter.

Turning my head, I gazed into Maddox's unseeing, deep green eyes and found myself wishing I had known him better.

"Such beautiful eyes..." I murmured softly, and turned my gaze back up to the tree branches.

A moment later, the life left my body, the light in my eyes fading at last, as I lay next to Maddox underneath the drooping willow tree.


End file.
